


recently online

by Poose



Series: bear mode [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Feelings, First Time, Hook-Up, Kissing, M/M, Raunchy as Shit, Solomon Tozer Is Very Good at Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25395442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose
Summary: After a night out with his mates, Sol goes round Edward's for some no strings attached action. Warnings for raunchy-ass shit and also (apparently now inescapable?) feelings.
Relationships: Lt Edward Little/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Series: bear mode [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821178
Comments: 23
Kudos: 42





	recently online

Shift tomorrow morning will be a bitch. Only night that works for Bill, though. He and the wife each get one a week to themselves, and good luck making plans for a Saturday when they're all free. Longer than it should’ve been. Tonight they’ve moved from pub to chippy and are now in a club where Bill is proper soused, buying drinks for anyone who happens to be standing near them. 

He’s being flirted with by one bleach-blonde after the next, doing his damndest to pass them on to Karl and Dave. Really, at this rate it could almost be funny, except the girls are cross, disappointed, and the last train’ll be leaving soon. 

He shouts to Bill over the music. _You staying at mine?_

Bill’s sweaty mug beams up at him. _Should get back_ he yells in response. He shakes his head in a wide circle, stumbles a bit. _Don’t wanna though_. 

Sol shrugs. It’ll be a headache getting him onto the platform in this state, but then again, he’s drunk enough that he’ll snore the whole night through if he crashes at his. Suffer now or suffer later? 

_Come on then_ he gets him by the shoulder, pauses to let him hug the various girls goodbye and give them sloppy cheek kisses, and fake like he's going to kiss Karl who has his arm around the waist of one several inches taller than him, even in trainers, with massive tits. Good for him.

He gets Bill settled on the platform bench, propped upright, and checks his phone more from habit than interest. The app lights up, green. Unread messages from earlier, when he’d logged out and closed it down, perfectly content to spend the evening with his mates getting increasingly plastered. 

He bites his back teeth together in frustration at seeing the message. 

_hey_

Leaving it on read would be for the best. He hasn’t got it in him tonight, really, and is already set to deeply regret tomorrow. Better to stay sensible. Except. 

_want to meet up? i’m in for the night_

Does he want to meet up with _natural cute otter lean build vers but love to bottom condoms nsa_? Course he fucking does. Christ. Look at him. 

He rubs at his eyes, forehead, with the back of his hand, winces at the dry prickle. Next to him on the bench, Bill snorts like he might be about to nod off. 

Only it’s been a long day, and tomorrow will be much longer what with work and the inevitable hangover. Right now all he can think about is his own bed without a snoring Bill in it, ta and thank you. But then again. 

Sol knows, if he acts now, he'll have momentum on his side. The longer he waits? More likely it becomes that the person on the other end will stop replying. Get bored, move on. You have a window in which to get some, after which if it doesn’t happen, isn’t going to, ever. And that’s? Well it's just not on. He's cute, he's so fucking cute. 

_you there?_

_kind of_ he writes _seeing a friend off_

Then there’s an emoji reply, followed by a picture that Sol really shouldn’t have opened in public. He shoves the phone into his pocket as the train slides past them and screeches to a stop. He gets Bill up, and on it, with half-hugs and promises to text when he's in, and then instead of crossing to the other side as he should, because of morning, and he has to make his lunch, and he'll need a shower because he stinks of club and ale. He rubs his face with an open palm, opens the app again. Fuck. 

Oh, fuck it. Tomorrow will be shit regardless. And he's nearby. It's walkable, nearly. He's headed out of the station, connecting to a better signal, as he's typing _sure i'll come round_ and scrolling back far enough to get the address which he re-sends again a moment later, when he's already on his way. 

_here i think_

_i’ll buzz you in. 2nd flat 3rd floor sorry about the stairs_

Sol knocks. 

He opens the door with a _Hey_. Smaller than he looked in his photos. Maybe a couple inches shorter, leaner. Cute, _cute_. 

There’s an offer of a beer, which he takes, followed by a couple minutes of profoundly empty conversation in which they both establish that the other one isn’t too intoxicated, and that no one is going to wake up that same night with a head injury and their wallet missing. 

For his part Sol’s had more than he would like on an occasion like this. When he hooks up he likes to have worked out already that day, had some protein, be well-hydrated, and to not have jerked it on his own earlier in the shower before going out for the evening. But he’s come all this way. He’s committed, now, to the follow-through. 

He leans over, noses at his shirt collar. Smells good. Clean. _You kiss?_

He blinks over at Sol, licks his bottom lip and says _yes_ right as Sol goes for his mouth from beneath. Good thing he said so because he'd like to find out. 

Good kisser, too. Responsive. 

_Edward_ he says after they've made out for a bit _sorry that’s my name. Should have said._

Sol rolls it around in his mouth, tries it out. Eh. He leans into his accent a little, though, because they tend to like that. 

_Oh_ he says when Sol puts his hand down the back of his shirt, moves it around to his armpit, tries again up underneath the front — all good, all things he responds to, the tiniest bit ticklish just right _there_ — _oh okay_. 

Sol moves his free hand away from the beer bottle, leaves it sitting on the counter — he hadn’t really wanted it in the first place, what he wants is some water, actually, now he thinks on it, because his mouth is dry and his eyes are too and he kind of leans back against a wall and shit, _shit._

The cabinets tilt sharply sideways. Sol rights himself, stands up. brushes the backs of his hands along his scratchy cheeks, kisses him deeply until the spinning stops and he comes up under his ear, bites his way down along the sharp line of his jaw. _Okay_ he asks _we good?_

He nods eagerly, puts his arms around Sol’s neck, lets his forearms dangle a bit limp against his upper back. _Yeah yeah_ he breathes, hot and flustered. When they break apart a few breathless minutes later, his chest is heaving and his pulse, which Sol can feel against his lips as he kisses his way down from wrist to his elbow to his inner bicep to his armpit, holding him up by one hand against the cabinets, is quick and shallow. Vulnerable, even. Jesus, if that doesn’t make him want to rip this guy apart. 

Sol runs his hands up and down his back over his shirt, under it. He whines when Sol stops kissing him, makes a hot little choked noise when he gets a thigh between his legs, goes right back in for his mouth. Despite being tired, Sol's taking his sweet fucking time. The guy is fit, responsive as hell, but acts like it’s gotta be coaxed out of him, despite the forthright messages from earlier. Sol doesn’t mind. Hell, he's always up for a challenge. 

_Said you like to bottom?_ he asks, with his hands on his waist under his shirt. His own temples are throbbing, damp. He might be on the verge of a headache.

 _Yeah_ he says lean thigh now pressed snug up against Sol’s straining jeans. _I would, I mean. I do, yeah. Yes._

He puts his hand on his own fly, gives himself a squeeze. His eyes follow the movement, then go right back up to him. Fuck, he's hard. Fuck, he's ready to throw down. Right here if he has to.

_Said you like to suck dick?_

_Sure_ he answers. He closes his eyes for a long moment, opens them again. _Sure I like that_. 

_Any old one?_ Sol pushes himself off the counter and steps back. _Maybe this one right here?_

He swallows, eyes huge.

When he’d seen the profile picture he’d thought _cute_ and when he’d seen him in his travel photos in his swim trunks he’d thought _not bad_ and when he’d looked closely at his face he’d thought _don’t mind if I do indeed_.

 _Go on then_ he says. 

He puts his hands right atop his knees, the movement prim and graceful, and sits back on his heels to look dead level with his crotch as Sol unfastens himself with relief. 

He glances up a few times but mostly he's focussed, if overeager. Good for his ego, great for his aching erection, but the execution? Leaves much to be desired. Nice hands but his coordination’s off in a major way, and Sol’s about to say _cheers love but let’s leave it out_ when he makes an enthusiastic slurping sound and though it leaves him cold and wet more than anything it also means that his dick smears across that pretty pink mouth and he looks up, again, like he’s asking to be told he’s doing a good job, and _fuck_ if Sol doesn’t want to have him down, held there, down there, until he can get it right. 

Instead he closes his eyes, takes over, interlacing his knuckles behind his head. His eyebrows pull together like it might be too much, relax again when he slides them down to the back of his neck instead. He settles into that, loosens his throat for a sweet few seconds, and then coughs wetly all over his dick. 

He puts his hand on the top of his head, thumb resting against his forehead, and when he’s pulled up, off, sucking in air against Sol’s thigh he brushes the dark hair back from his face. 

_That’s good baby_ he says, and guides him, helps him to stand, grasping him by the elbow and pulling him to his feet. He throws an arm around his upper back. _Kiss me_ he says _fucking kiss me_. When he leans in Sol can taste the salt of his own precome on his lips.

His dick is throbbing, just like his brain inside his skull. Sol looks over in the direction of the sink. _Can I get some water?_ he asks. 

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Sounds winded when he answers. _Sure, sure. Ice?_

 _Nah_ Sol says _just water’s fine_. 

He pulls a filter jug out from his refrigerator and pours him some. Sol drains it in one, holds it out for more. _Thanks_ he says once he’s finished that. 

_You good?_ he asks, holds up the jug. 

_Yeah_ Sol says, feeling himself out. His head’s a little all over the place, but that’s the drink, and he’s in control of his faculties well enough to perform. Better now, a bit. 

_Still want to jerk me off?_ he asks, getting right to it. 

He glances back at the fridge, scratches at his neck. _Maybe?_ he says finally. God, what a filthy little flirt.

He scoots back to watch Sol get his jeans open further, though not off entirely. He’s wearing boots; it’ll take ages to unlace them. 

_You want to get back over here?_

He looks askance. Maybe he’s changed his mind? 

_Can I watch?_ he asks. _Like for a minute?_

Sol’s ears redden. He knows it because his neck prickles and his fingers tingle around his dick which is clasped loose through his underwear in an overhand, pulsing. 

_Sure_ he says because fair’s fair. He had sent a picture, _pictures_ , with basically the same set-up. More natural light, a slightly different angle but. Yeah. 

He indicates with his chin. _Joining in are you?_

 _I can_ he says, hands on his zip _but I don’t have to._ _God. You’re so fucking hot._

He takes the compliment. Nice to hear it, though Sol knows it already. 

_Yeah_ he says in response _yeah you’re really hot too_. 

Sol’s shirtsleeve is cutting into his circulation; he pushes it up a bit so it accentuates his upper arm as he moves it. This he can do easy enough. It's relief, more than anything. Relief, sure, to make certain he's got the light, got the angle, that he looks as good as he does onscreen in a cropped photo, and that the noises he makes are good, enticing. 

Must be, since he takes a step closer to get a better view. Sol walks his way with a hand on his cock, backs him up a bit. _Want to go? Or just do this?_

This time when he sinks onto his knees Sol sits down next to him, leans against the cabinets. He is warm underneath his shirt, bare skin warmer still once Sol gets it off him, pulls him in close by the back of his neck to kiss again and again and again.

 _You want to take a little ride?_ he asks, mouthing the words against his chest, then peers up at him like he doesn’t want to hear no for an answer.

His eyes are sleepy, then wide, and he says _yeah let's do that._ He shucks his own trousers off, along with his pants and socks and leaves them crumpled on the floor. 

Sol wriggles his wallet out of his back pocket, shoves his jeans and underwear down past his knees. His legs are hemmed together by them but, whatever, why stop to remedy it now? Give him his fantasy, it’s easy enough. 

_Climb on up there_ he instructs, locating the condom, ripping open the packet, spitting aside the bit of wrapper that always seems to cling to his mouth.

He shuffles up to straddle him. Sol slides two fingers between his parted lips, lets him suck on them, watches his eyes close in pleasure as fucks his mouth with them. Then he lets go his erection so it hits against his backside a couple of times. The noise is audible even over the hum of the refrigerator. 

_Oh shit_ he says, looking up at the ceiling. 

_Turn round_ Sol instructs and after he pants down at him a little bit, stupidly, adds _I mean if you want_. 

_No oh yeah okay._ He lifts himself around until he’s completely facing in the other direction.

Sol goes straight in with his wet fingers, then rolls on the condom, jerks it, uses what comes away on his thumb, rubbing against his rim until he opens right on up. Well-trained, then. Christ. 

_Like this?_ He looks over his shoulder. This innocent act will do Sol's fucking head in, if it really is an act. 

Sol pushes on him between the shoulder blades, moves his whole hand to finger him. _Yeah_ he says, rubbing circles onto his back _take all the time you need._

He reaches behind him and Sol's right there with the assist. It goes in quicker than he expected. Fucking tight as shit, though.

 _Little more_ Sol says to the ripple of his long, lean back. _Balls deep, baby, go on._

He grips his upper arm right near his shoulder, angles him forward until he gasps, raspy, sexy as all get out, and says _oh hell oh shit oh what the hell fuck fuck._

Sol leans back against the cabinets, one hand behind his head, and lets him work, lazy for a time, cracking one eye open when he needs the visual to remind him. He uses his free hand to pull his asscheek back on one side to get a better view. Good to be sitting down. Fucking great to watch. 

_C’mere_ he says and gets him level with his mouth, drawing his knees up until the soles of his feet are on the floor. _C’mere kiss me._ He whimpers when Sol grabs him by the upper arm, wrenches him up, his elbow resting over top of his shoulder, upper arm wrapped around his face, hand on the other side of it cradling his chin. 

Beyond stupid but what the hell, it feels right to say it. Right in his ear, too, what the hell, why not. 

_You want daddy to drill that tight little hole?_

_Oh shit_ he gasps _oh fuck yes._

Sol holds him across the belly, one firm hand to keep him in place. 

_Fuck yeah_ Sol grunts, because fuck if that isn’t exactly what he wants too, and he holds him up while he does the moving, his body gone rigid, back all sweaty meaning Sol can’t get a grip anywhere good and his hands slide off wherever he tries to touch. 

_Fuck_ he says _oh oh oh fuck._

Sol grins at the noises he punches out of him, like he’s never been fucked before, or, if not quite that, then never like this. His head hits the cabinets with a hollow clunk. 

_You wanna come on my dick_ he asks, rolling out the pain, not breaking his stride at all, using his feet for ballast. 

He looks back over his shoulder and says _hell yeah let me have it can you will you_. His mouth stays open after he says it, and Sol fights his way back to sitting upright, clenches his stomach muscles until he’s leant up against the cabinets. 

_Anything you want_ Solomon tells him, pawing at his damp skin to find purchase again with his open hands. _Anything you want, baby._

~*~

_I’ll be shoving off then_ he says after he’s used the facilities. Dealt with the condom. Washed his hands relentlessly. Asked for and accepted some more water. His head feels clearer at least. 

Sol’s mouth knows the shape of _Thanks for that_ and _See you around sometime_ which are truthful enough, though it has yet to happen with any regularity. 

He’s put on his trousers and holds his shirt balled up in his hands. _Right now?_ He pulls the shirt over his head, covering up all the places Sol's turned his skin red and pink. _I guess it’s late._

His own face is hot from looking at it, even though he’s just shot a load big enough to knock the wind out of him for a second. It's done, they're done. He's got an early morning. 

_I have work_ he offers by way of explanation, shoves his hands deep into his pockets. _Early start._ Too goddamn early to have done this for as long as they’d done. 

_Sure._ He gathers up Solomon’s beer bottle, the empty glasses, and puts them into the sink. _That’s rough._

Sol points in the general direction of the door he came in by and says _I’ll see myself out then_ and he says _oh no I’ve got you._

 _Nice to meet you_ Sol says, like they’ve just been introduced at a mutual friend’s birthday party, rather than two people who, having fulfilled the contract of _looking for a good time one time only no strings no strings attached_ , are taking their leave of one another. 

_Cheers_ he says in return. _And, y'know, likewise._

His eyelids are droopy, hazy, not from whatever he’d been up to before, but what they’ve done only just now. On impulse, Sol gives him one last kiss in the front entryway across the threshold. 

He springs for a rideshare. The driver, hearing his accent, wants to hear his thoughts on the Merseyside Derby, a subject about which he, to his surprise, can only muster the bare minimum of enthusiasm. He opens his phone, the app. The grid changes, the tiles move as they pass from intersections with crowded after hours spots — a veritable buffet of options. A feast so plentiful that a man could filter for the precise density of body hair he was after right that second, scorn anyone whose cock was even a quarter of an inch lesser than the stated acceptable range. 

You had to deliver on what you offered up. Which is why Sol’s got more than one profile to his account, shuffling between them according to what he's after. A cutie to push around, a promised hand job that would have you back at the pub just inside of twenty, and when you needed it, a pounding from someone bigger, harrier, older, silver in his beard, who might, even if you told him to _fucking shut his trap_ , still want to call you daddy. 

The car pulls up at the end of his street. He looks at the total on his phone, groans. He’ll have to set an extra alarm to get up in time to make not only lunch but now two — three, as he leaves a tip — snacks to offset the cost. 

_Have a good night, brother_ he says and the driver says _the same to you, brother_ and then he’s pushing his shoulder against the outer vestibule door, the one that has been painted over so many times that it no longer fits into the frame, finding his way into his own kitchen, getting his own glass of water, brushing his teeth, using the flashlight app on his phone to skulk his way down the hall and into his room without waking his flatmates. He strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed. 

He rolls onto his side, punches the pillow down and puts it over his arm, his head resting in the soft dent he’s made. Work tomorrow, early, but he’s buzzing still. Would have liked to have another go round, on that big sofa that he only spotted from the entryway. Would have liked to spot-wash, get his boots off, put _cute otter lean build love to bottom nsa condoms_ on all fours. Say his name, maybe. Hear those noises again, for real, not only later when he imagines them in the shower. Test the limits of that feigned shyness, see how deep it goes. 

Sol presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, winces at the sensation. He's in for hell tomorrow. He reaches for the water glass, tries to drink from it without sitting all the way up, then goes to set the alarm for far too goddamned early. 

A notification, green. Could be anyone. His location tracking is on, he's still findable even when he's home in bed. 

_that was fun_ it reads and then there's a series of _zzz's_

Usually he lets it go. Usually that's enough. He’s at his best when the sex is spontaneous. Why plan it, put it in the diary? Why go back for the same when there were so many options, so many dudes blowing up his inbox straight out of the gate? Why answer it at all? 

_yeah_ he writes back and leaves it at that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know who to blame anymore. Probably myself.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [@pitcherplant](https://pitcherplant.tumblr.com/) if you care about Solomon Tozer and all his fucking _feelings_ or whatever.


End file.
